Wish you were there!
by Jantallian
Summary: In 'Dragon at the Door', Slim mentions casually that he and Jess were once on the Barbary Coast and "it gets pretty wild." Why and what happened? Were they on a mission or just on holiday? And how, in a few short days, did they manage to get into (and out of) so much trouble? (Chapter version of previously posted story)
1. Chapter 1

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 **WISH YOU WERE THERE!**

Jantallian

 **Holiday Snapshot 1**

"Get a move on, will y'!" As the tall, fair-haired man hesitated on the steps of the unloading stage-coach, a battered carpet bag struck him with some force in the middle of the back. Caught by surprise, he staggered wildly and made a leap for the ground, landing with an almighty splash in one of the many deep, muddy puddles that decorated the road. Mud shot into the air and cascaded down on him in an unrelenting stream. It was a pity he had politely removed his hat during the journey and failed to replace it before this tsunami of liquid earth hit him.

"What did y' do that for?" the same voice enquired innocently.

The blonde drew a deep breath, reminded himself that he was in a public street and, in the most civilised tones he could manage – which wasn't very – said: "Someone pushed me."

"Y' just gettin' clumsy in y' old age." The dark-haired man jumped lightly to a patch of dry ground and turned politely to help the woman behind him. It was probably not necessary for him to carry her across to the boardwalk, but he did it anyway. She was very pretty. By the time he had deposited her safely, fetched her suitcase and bowed politely over her hand in farewell – although he rather thought that this might not be as permanent as it appeared – the first man had succeeded in wiping the mud from his eyes with what had once been a clean handkerchief.

The dark man retrieved the offending carpet bag and reached down his companion's from the roof of the coach as well. "I suppose I gotta carry this for you, seein' as y're drippin' mud everywhere?"

"Thanks." The fair-haired, or rather muddy-haired, one was unfailing polite, even in the most trying circumstances.

His companion surveyed him up and down with a mental grin which he disguised as a look of horrified distaste. "Y' need a Chinese laundry!"

"A what?"

"Laundry. Place where they wash things. Run by the Chinese. They're very efficient."

 _So are you!_ the blonde man thought, realising that this had probably all been a ploy to put him out of the running with the pretty woman. "I need a bath first," he said aloud.

"Ain't no hotel gonna let y' in lookin' like that," the other man stated truthfully. Then he relented a little. "Come on!"

"What … Where?" The mud-clad man's puzzled questions were lost as his companion forged ahead through the bustling crowds and disappeared suddenly down a narrow and dubious-looking alleyway. To add to his miseries, it was beginning to rain heavily – so much for sunny California! He hesitated briefly, then decided that he had nothing to lose. Actually he did. All his clothes.

Some ten minutes later he found himself sitting huddled in a scratchy blanket beside a tiny fire in an even tinier kitchen. He was not quite sure how he had got there or what was happening to his clothes, but his speculations were cut short when a tiny and very ancient Chinese woman silently deposited a bowl of hot water, soap and a clean towel on the table which occupied almost all of the space in the room. Then she bowed politely, hands folded in front of her, and backed silently out of the door.

The door quickly swung open again and his carpet bag landed on the table. "Get dressed. I'll go find us a hotel."

"But Jess –!"

Too late. The blonde man sighed, assured himself that he was indeed totally alone and began to comply with the instructions. This meant that he was unaware of the lively conversation taking place in the workroom of the laundry between the dark man and a young Chinese of about his own age. It was conducted in a mixture of broken English, very rudimentary and minimal Mandarin with a strong Texan accent, hand-signals and a great deal of shared experience. After a while, the Texan concluded: "Thanks, Wen. Tell y' pa I'm very grateful."

"Not problem, Jess – you welcome – alway!"

"I'll be back. Don't let him go runnin' off now! Understand?"

Wen nodded and the young man was gone. The Chinaman smiled as he caught the muttered comment that accompanied this swift exit: "Shouldn't have given him his clothes back, ain't goin' nowhere without clothes!"

The clotheless one, meanwhile, found a clean set in his bag and dressed slowly. He wondered if Chinese laundries always took the clothes off their customers' backs and filed this away in his tidy mind as a strange feature of life on the Barbary Coast.

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 **SS - JH**

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"This is a hotel?"

"Kind of -" Jess Harper replied evasively.

Slim Sherman surveyed the room carefully - the ornately carved woodwork, the dark heavy furniture, the deep luxurious carpet and rich brocade curtains, not to mention the thickness of the mattress on the enormous bed.

"Are you sure?"

His companion sighed and nodded.

Slim continued his exploration. Opening the door of what he took to be a cupboard, he exclaimed in surprise: "Jess, there's a bath in here!"

The dark man ambled over and pushed him aside. He folded his arms and appeared to be giving the bath the kind of scrutiny that he would normally have accorded an opposing gunman.

"Yep. That's a bath," he stated after some moments' thought. It was possibly the size and degree of elaborate decoration that caused this reaction. On the other hand, it was quite likely that he was just teasing.

"Are you sure we can afford this?" Ever economical, the blonde one.

"We ain't payin'," the other reminded him. This was true in more ways than just the fact that they were on an all-expenses paid mission.

Slim thought some more. "There are a lot of ladies staying in this hotel."

"Guess that shows it's a safe one. We'll be able to sleep peacefully then." Jess's ironic grin was entirely lost on his companion.

"About that bath -"

"You sure could use one t' get rid of the rest o' that mud. Y' smell like year-old cabbage!"

"It'll take ages to fill."

Another grin. "Not in this hotel."

At that moment, there was a knock at the door and it opened to admit a whole phalanx of serving girls all carrying buckets of steaming water. In no time, the bath was filled and the room emptied.

"Enjoy y' bath. I'm goin' to play."

"Pay? Can't you add it to the bill?" Slim's question hung on empty air. Once again he was too late and Jess had disappeared. As the heavily carved mahogany door closed slowly behind him there was a crescendo of female voices, under which snatches of response in an unmistakable husky baritone could be distinguished: " - can do it himself ... I ain't havin' ... maybe, later! … An' gimme that spare key!"

Then there was some breathless giggling and the light clatter of footsteps dying away, followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock. When Slim wandered over and tried the door it was indeed locked. Hotel rooms got locked with the guests inside? He sighed and chalked all this up to another strange fact he was learning about life on the Barbary Coast.


	2. Chapter 2

**WISH YOU WERE THERE!**

Jantallian

 **Holiday Snapshot 2**

"I thought you said it was a quiet hotel?" the fair man queried as they passed through the swing doors onto the street early the next morning.

"Kind of –" was the non-committal reply.

"It was noisy enough last night." The blonde rubbed his eyes and stretched, still trying to shake off the effects of a broken night.

"Maybe they were havin' a party?" the other suggested.

"You should know!"

"Me?" The younger man's lean features immediately assumed a look of total innocence.

"Yeah, you. What time did you come back last night?"

There was a minuscule pause as the dark-haired man considered whether it was worth lying or if this might be counter-productive in riling his companion to the point of open rebellion. He said truthfully: " 'Round sun-up."

"Sunrise?" The older man peered at him, a worried frown creasing his forehead. "Jess, are you ok?"

Certainly the dark man looked uncharacteristically awake and lively for this time in the morning, when normally all you could get out of him was a growl and a demand for coffee. Not only that, but he was neatly dressed in clean, formal clothes and it looked as if someone had brushed his hat.

"I'm fine."

 _Oh no! There's got to be something wrong if he says that!_ The sleep-deprived one thought of his own fatigued state and demanded: "How much sleep did you get?"

"You don't wanna know!" he was told firmly. "Now come on, let's get on with this job you've managed t' land us with!"

"No-one asked you to come," the blonde man pointed out.

"Oh yes they did. Jonesy and Mort made Miss Rachel ask me t' ride shotgun on this expedition, 'cause there's no knowin' where you and the Reverend might end up."

"Back home, of course. To get him home is what we're being paid for."

"That's what his daughter's payin' _you_ for. She's payin' me to look after both y' hides!"

The leader of the expedition gave up the unequal struggle with this stubborn viewpoint. He had indeed offered to help Miss Rachel Fitzwilliam, a young and charming acquaintance in Laramie, when she received a disturbing letter from her elderly father, suggesting that he was lost and confused somewhere in California – the Barbary Coast to be precise. He didn't see why Jess had to muscle in on the rescue, regardless of who had or hadn't asked him, unless, of course, he had devious designs of his own. Still, there was nothing he could do about it: he would just have to put up with Jess being there now.

 _On with the job_! He looked up the street, then down. It looked pretty unprepossessing in both directions.

"So where do we start?" The dark man was watching his companion and the surrounding doorways and alleys carefully, just in case.

"Well, he's a minister, so I guess the local church," was the practical suggestion. "I saw it as we came in, about two minutes from the stage stop. Let's go."

They went. They arrived.

"You stay here."

The dark man scowled and demanded, "Why?"

"It's a risky business, going to a church. They might just decide you're enough of a sinner to try converting you," his companion grinned. "Now me, I'm just a harmless tourist. Anyway, I'm much more tactful than you and," - he had noticed that several middle-aged ladies were working at cleaning the porch and outside of the church – "politer and more appealing to their mothering instinct!"

His companion gave a derisive snort. Certainly the last statement was inaccurate, since Jess Harper's ability to stir up the feeding, patching up and comforting instincts of most women was well attested to. In this instance, however, he certainly didn't look anything like a tourist and probably appeared a touch too sharp, too predatory, for the 'look after me' appeal to operate effectively. Being willing, for the moment, to let things take their course, he merely shrugged resignedly, produced a slim panatella, lit up and leaned against the nearest wall. "Go head then. I'm coverin' your back."

"Against some old ladies? Just about as much as you can manage!" the fair-haired man taunted and beat a hasty retreat in the direction of the church. He walked up to the porch, removed his hat politely and addressed the nearest and largest lady, who was beating out the doormat with a fervour that should have warned him.

"Excuse me, madam, I'm looking for –"

"Well you'll get none of that here!" She rounded on him, shaking the dusty carpet-beater in his face. He backed hastily away as a verbal diatribe, the equivalent of the mud tsunami, broke about his unsuspecting ears: "You get away from here, you serpent you! Trouble and evil are under your tongue! Son of perdition! Philistine - child of Jezebel – hypocritical mocker – worker of iniquity! You unrighteous and cruel man! Deviser of mischief – sower of discord – winebibber – riotous eater of flesh - armpit of Satan! You make a noise like a dog going round the city! O wicked man with a forward mouth! Green bay tree! You eat the bread of wickedness and drink the wine of violence! You man of offence and son of destruction! You whited sepulchre and dabbler in abominations!" *1

At this point, she ran out of breath. It was, in all fairness, a quite unjustified attack. It would have been different if the other man had stood before her, but this one was obviously nothing of the sort. Honesty, friendliness, kindness and generosity were etched into his face, together with more of a share of innocence and wholesomeness than most adult human beings have a right to.

The woman, however, was not impressed by appearances: "An imp of Satan hiding behind the face of a cherub! But I'll wash the devil out of you in the Lord's name!" She picked up the bucket beside her and flung the contents over the blonde man. Soapsuds and dirty water dripped from his hair and everywhere else. He bowed to the woman, replaced his hat carefully, turned and walked back to where his companion was waiting.

"Was he there?" At least the true imp of Satan was not making jibes about success with old ladies and the conversion of sinners.

"I didn't get to look inside," the innocent admitted, wiping his smarting eyes with another clean handkerchief.

"Go on home and get dry." His friend shooed him firmly in the direction of the hotel. "An' don't forget to lock the door!"

"What are you going to do?"

"If you can't succeed with the old ladies, y' can always try the young ones." The dark man was already half way across the road, where he had spotted the pretty young lady who had travelled with them on the stage.

"But Jess –!"

Too late again. The opportunist was already arm-in-arm with her as they strolled gently towards the church. The cleaning ladies gathered in a welcoming committee. You'd think they had been specially cleaning the approach just so that the pair could walk on it.

The drenched one watched as they disappeared inside. He was mentally cursing his lost opportunity, but put it down to the luck that favoured the unscrupulous. _After all, Jess couldn't have arranged that bucket of water – could he? Or could he?_ The kind and generous features were momentarily obscured by a frown.

It had begun to rain again, strange, soft, warm rain, so unlike the brisk, sharp, clean downfalls in Wyoming. The drenched man was getting even wetter. He shrugged, gave a last glance at the church porch and the empty bucket and then he squelched thoughtfully away. The Barbary Coast was obviously somewhere that hell-fire made sense, at least to its inhabitants.

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 **SS - JH**

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Considerably later in the day, Jess returned and collapsed on to the vast bed. He closed his eyes and groaned.

"Have you been drinking?"

"Drinkin'? In church? With a lady?"

Suppressing a desire to say 'She's no lady if she's worn you out!' Slim confined himself to their proper employment. "Well, did you find him?"

"No. Ain't never been there. An' they've never heard of anyone answerin' to his description."

"Are you sure you described him properly?"

"Yeah – like one of those old prophets out o' the bible – big man, bushy hair, long white beard and a nose like an eagle."

Slim sighed. "That's right. I just wish he'd been there!" It would have been so much simpler.

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1\. All these terms of disapprobation except one come directly from the Bible. You can also have fun with Biblical Curse Generator at _Ship of Fools_ website!


	3. Chapter 3

**WISH YOU WERE THERE!**

Jantallian

 **Holiday Snapshot 3**

The next morning the clothes were still wet, which seemed odd, given that the sun had finally come out and the temperature was already climbing to new, baking heights. This posed a problem, if the fair-haired man was not to continue the investigation in his underwear. In fact, his underclothes posed a problem too. Searching through his neatly packed bag for some dry ones, he discovered to his dismay that he had inadvertently packed only his winter long-johns – hardly suitable attire for the sunny climes of California. He held them up with a groan: "What in the world was I thinking of when I packed these?"

"Guess y' were thinkin' of Miss Rachel," muttered a muffled voice from under more than its fair share of the bedclothes.*2

 _How did he manage to sleep under all that lot in this heat?_

"I did no such thing!" The blonde man was indignant and rightly so, since he had done all his thinking first and concentrated efficiently (or so he thought at the time) on his packing. "What am I going to do now?"

There was no response to this query, other than an irritated grunt from the heap of bedclothes. Gone was the 'fresh as a daisy' fellow sleuth and de facto tourist of the previous morning: the excesses of the night before last seemed to have caught up with him. Or maybe he was just reverting to his normal imitation of a hung-over raccoon in winter torpor.

"Jess! Wake up!"

He should have known better. There was not a drop of coffee within smelling distance. The only answer was a ferocious snarl and the impression that the one who had made it was now trying to excavate a burrow in the mattress.

"Wake up!" The older man grabbed the water ewer with one hand and dragged the bedclothes off wholesale with the other. "Pay attention! Or this is going right over you! I've got a problem."

"You _are_ a problem!" was the unkind reply. "You ain't safe let loose in a big city."

"Yeah? Well at least I don't stay up all night doing heaven knows what and go to bed at sunrise!" The problem one paused and then, side-tracked by the possibilities, enquired, "What exactly were you doing, anyway?"

The dark head disappeared under a pillow with the usual response: "You don't wanna know!"

"Probably not." Common sense reasserted its usual dominance. "But I do need to know how to get some cool drawers."

"Well you ain't borrowin' mine!" growled the pillow.

Refraining from pointing out the impossibility of this option, given the difference in their relative sizes, the tall man pleaded, "Come on, Jess – think!"

"You're the thinker," he was told, but the tone sounded marginally less truculent, given the lack of caffeine to placate the late-sleeper. There was a pause, then a muffled compromise: "Le'me be 'n I'll think o' somethin' …" The words faded into peaceful breathing and a faint snore.

The soporific one was saved some of this unaccustomed activity by the arrival of a tiny Chinese child from the laundry with the unlucky man's clothes. There was also a note for the friend of the Orient. This dragged him from slumber sufficiently to struggle out of his pit with a blanket hitched round him for decency's sake. The rest of the bedclothes ended up in a heap on the floor.

The owner of the cleaned clothes was obliged to tip the messenger, while the other hopped about, tearing open the envelope with one hand and pulling on his own clothes with the other. Reading the note quickly, he gave a satisfied grunt. His room-mate looked at him enquiringly.

"May be a lead. If it is, Wen'll let us know where to go this evening."

"We should still keep looking ourselves."

"Yeah, but it helps to know where to look. This ain't a small town."

"Miss Rachel did say Barbary Coast."

"Yeah? Well, there nine blocks' worth of it an' more alleys and rat-runs than you can shake a rag at. We need someone in the know."

"But we don't know anyone here."

"Yes, we do. The nosiest person in San Francisco!"

"Who? No, don't tell me – I don't want to know."

The dark man looked round in surprise from the mirror in which he was adjusting the set of his tie. _He's wearing a tie – for the second day running!_ "Ok. If you don't wanna know, I'll keep it a secret."

The secret was located down another narrow, noisome alley, along which they had to pick their way with due attention to where they were putting their feet. The dark man also seemed to be paying equal attention to the recesses, doorways, piles of boxes and other places of concealment, as a result of which they arrive in one piece, eventually, at a big set of double doors. The cautious one knocked, while his companion looked around at the blank walls with a puzzled expression. "What is this, a prison?"

"No," the other grinned. "Not unless you work here, of course."

The door opened and there was a shout of laughter, a flurry of bodies and they were swept into a dark passageway, which was full of metal stands, pieces of wood, curtains, lamps and miscellaneous items of an uncertain nature, mainly made of papier-mâché. In the squash, the blonde man managed only to take in that the people surrounding them seemed to be clad mostly in flimsy garments liberally decorated with sequins and that they were all hugging his companion and thumping him on the back with a fervour that suggested he was a long lost relative. Then the crowd melted away and another door opened in front of them, letting out a blast of light and heat.

"Get your hands up, you side-winding son of card-sharp!" ordered a harsh voice of indeterminate sex. "Back against that wall!"

The dark man side-stepped and pressed against the wall as commanded. "Stay where y'are!" he warned his companion.

It was as well that the confused one obeyed, for the next thing he knew there was a hissing sound and a feeling of displaced air in front of his face, followed by a series of rapid thuds. He turned his head cautiously and saw that the long-lost relative had been outlined against the wall by ten or so accurately thrown knives.*3

"I see you ain't lost your touch, Aunty Mae, even if you ain't all that drunk."

"Any more of your cheek, young man, and the next one will be somewhere guaranteed to make a big difference to your future career!" The speaker, a tough, muscular woman whose age was anyone's guess, was sprawled in an armchair in front of a blazing fire. _Isn't it hot enough for her in California?_ the blonde man pondered, wishing fervently that he was not wearing his winter underwear and that she was dressed in something more than hers and a lurid silk wrapper.

"Did you bring any liquor?" the knife-throwing woman demanded.

"Y' think I'm stupid enough not to?" The dark man reached into an inner pocket and produced a bottle of brandy.

The woman grinned and lounged out of the chair to scoop up a couple of glasses from the big dressing table which stood below a vast mirror. "Who's your friend?" She grabbed the bottle, pulled out the cork with her teeth and splashed a liberal amount into the glasses. She handed one to her target and, with her free hand, retrieved the knives, tossing them one at a time into block of cork obviously kept for the purpose.

"He's a problem," the dark man admitted as he took a swig of the brandy. The problem one began to protest, but the other continued, "Anna-Maria still with you, Mae?"

The woman nodded. "You want her?"

"Thought maybe she could help him with some shoppin', while we're catchin' up."

"Thought you'd be more likely to want to catch up with her than me," the woman countered. Then she shrugged, went over to the door and yelled, "Anna, get yourself in here pronto!"

A few seconds later another woman came through the door. The over-heated one felt his temperature rise again. She was obviously Mexican and had all the dark, svelte beauty of her race. She also did not seem to be armed to the teeth with sharp knives, which was an improvement on the first woman. And not only was she beautiful, she was young and fully clothed. She said crossly "What now, Aunty Mae?" Then, "Jess!" She flung herself across the room and administered another one of those fervent hugs, somewhat to the detriment of his glass of brandy.

"Quit wasting good liquor, you two!" Mae ordered. She was quite one of the bossiest women the fair-haired tourist had ever met.

"Oh, yeah. " The dark one detached himself from Anna-Maria and held her at arm's length. "My friend needs some help, Anna. Can you take him shoppin' and make sure he don't get fleeced – and that includes by you!"

The Mexican girl laughed, "Sure, Jess!" She looked the other man up and down and added with enthusiasm, "It'll be a pleasure."

The blonde man grabbed his companion and whispered urgently, "I'm shopping for underwear! You can't do this to me!"

"Stop spillin' my drink! You're in safe hands," the other told him. "Anna-Maria is in charge of the costumes. And believe me, there ain't nothin' she ain't seen!"

"This is a theatre?"

"Yeah. Where did you think you were?" The dark man looked puzzled for a moment, then he added a final piece of advice: "And don't let her get anywhere near a hat shop!"

"I don't need a hat." The potential purchaser held out the one he was carrying.

"A female hat shop, idiot! Now get along with y'. I need to listen to Aunty Mae."

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 **SS – JH**

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"You bought silk underpants?" Jess regarded his friend's purchases with a mixture of amusement and surprise. Anna-Maria went up several notches in his estimation, which was pretty high already.

"She said it was the only cloth for this climate." Slim looked both sheepish and defiant.

"She did?"

"Yeah." Slim tossed a parcel across the room. "She made me buy these for you. She said she could remember your size."

There was a little silence. Then Jess slit open the package and, shaking out the garments in question, remarked casually, "Accurate girl, Anna-Maria."

"Shirts, too." Slim produced more parcels. "Do you think these can go on our expenses?"

"Can't do the job without 'em. Ain't gonna do anythin' if we faint from heat exhaustion."

Slim thought for a moment of the piled bedclothes and the furnace-like theatrical dressing room. Then he shrugged mentally and gave it up. He was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he would never understand life on the Barbary Coast and fervently wished things were more normal.

"Come on, I'm starvin'!" Jess had donned a clean, new shirt and was once more looking quite unlike his usual dishevelled self. His appetite was, however, reassuringly normal.

"But I need to change!" Slim protested. _Who needed the summer underwear anyway?_

"Later." And in next to no time they were heading for the nearest eating house. As they did so, Slim's voice could be heard plaintively saying: "I wish he'd been there in that theatre." But that would have made it all too easy.

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2\. This is the mid 19th C and well before we all got hung up about people sharing beds. Incidentally, RF appears to do so in _Incident at Phantom Hill,_ when he's hotelling with Dan Duryea (although Matt Martin might just have been cussed enough to have sat up all night in a chair with a gun trained on that smarmy villain!)


	4. Chapter 4

**WISH YOU WERE THERE!**

Jantallian

 **Holiday Snapshot 4**

Emerging from the restaurant, the fair man looked hopefully across the road. "Maybe we should try in there – it's an impressive looking building, a library maybe - just the kind of place a man of the Reverend's reputation would frequent."

Before his companion could stop him, he strode decisively across the rutted highway and entered the lobby of the building. The dark man sighed, then grinned rather wickedly and strolled after him. Inside the place was barer and much more shabby than the exterior suggested. There was nothing but a desk with a man sitting behind it, some ceiling-high shelves which were stacked with what appeared to be folded, white towels and a battered bench along one wall. There was a big set of fancy double doors immediately opposite the main entrance and, in one corner, another, less prepossessing single door across which hung a battered curtain. The whole place had a dank atmosphere, as if it had been raining that strange, warm rain inside. It wasn't quite what the first man had expected, but he was willing to investigate anyway.

"You can't go in there, cowboy!" But there was no stopping him. The tall man pushed determinedly through the double doors and disappeared in a cloud of very hot steam. His shorter companion gave another long-suffering sigh and tossed two dollars onto the counter. The attendant grabbed the money and threw him a towel. The dark man threw it straight back, his hand bunching meaningfully into a fist as he did so. The attendant found a clean towel and handed it over in a reasonably civilised manner. They both waited expectantly.

After a few moments, the double doors opened again and the blonde reappeared. He was suspended between two massive attendants who were clad only in what looked like Indian loin-clothes. He was gasping for air, mainly from the steam, but possibly because, despite the fact that he himself was well over six foot, the two men were holding him off the ground by his arms. They dropped him in front of his friend.

When he could speak again, the tall man choked out: "Jess – it's full of –"

"It's a Turkish bath!" his companion informed him patiently. "You take your clothes off." He brandished the towel under the other man's nose, then, obviously deciding that further education on the subject of Turkish baths was going to be wasted, he slung off his gun-belt and held it out. "Take this. And sit there." He pushed the bemused blonde on to the bench running along the wall. "Y' can look after m' clothes as well in a minute." He disappeared through the battered curtain.

"But Jess –!"

The protest came too late again. Not long after this, the waiting man received a pile of miraculously neatly folded clothes – _got to be a first for Jess_ , he thought – as the dark one, now clad only in a towel round his waist, made for the double doors.

"Jess!"

"Yeah, what now?"

"It's a bath."

"Yeah. I know that."

"Hat?"

"Oh, yeah." The black hat spun across the room and its owner disappeared in a cloud of steam. The cowboy and the attendant eyed each other with mutual suspicion. The attendant clearly thought that this heavily muscled specimen might make another attempt to gate-crash the baths without paying. Nothing could be further from the truth. Since he was still clad in the woollen long-johns, he had felt quite enough of the jungle-like humidity and seen quite enough of the assorted broiling bodies within to make him thankful that he was outside in the relative cool. He couldn't imagine what on earth Jess thought he was going to do … but told himself that it would be worth it if they found the one they were seeking. On the other hand, Jess's capacity for getting into trouble made him very uneasy … maybe he should be ready to go to the rescue ….

Suddenly – predictably perhaps – from beyond the doors a total stranger's voice was raised in panic: "It's not you! You can't be here! No-o-o!"

The gargantuan footfalls of the huge attendants echoed loudly, even though muffled by the thick atmosphere and some fairly solid doors. There was a rumbling growl which might have included the words "Gerroffome!" and which certainly portended a Harper going into fighting mode. This was rapidly followed by two heavy thuds and the sound of a body hitting a hard floor. Then a quick staccato burst of knuckles on solid flesh, a couple of explosive grunts and the rasp of fabric being torn. The doors shook. Steam billowed out round the edges with a mighty hiss and several voices were raised in slightly stupefied consternation. Finally, silence fell.

The doors opened again and the younger man strolled out, rubbing the sweat from his forehead with one arm. His hair, wet and curling tightly, was plastered to his head and the ripped towel was somewhat more precariously hitched on his slim hips. Steam swathed him round, obscuring his expression, but he could easily have been smirking.

If he was, it did not last long. "Come on," he ordered, "let's get goin'!"

The blonde baulked at this. "Jess, I am not running round San Francisco with you wearing nothing but a towel!"

"You wanna get closer acquainted with them again?" From behind the double doors there was a sound consistent with a couple of very angry bull-elephants about to charge.

The dark man grabbed his hat and slapped it on his head. "Don't hang about, Slim! Leg it!" He barged past the attendant, flung up the window behind the desk and jumped into an alley. "An' don't drop m' boots!"

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 **SS - JH**

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A while later, Jess was sitting on the edge of the fancy bath, attempting to wash the mud off his feet.

"Could you recognise anyone in all that steam?" Slim asked curiously.

"Someone recognised me!" Jess told him grimly. "But I maybe won't recognise him next time I see him!"

"How do you know that?"

" 'Cos I rearranged his features some!"

"Starting a fight was hardly likely to help us get the Reverend out, if he was in there."

Jess heaved another patient sigh. "Slim, if he was in there, he wouldn't've come willingly anyway."

"Why not?"

"You don't wanna know!" Jess told him firmly once more.

Slim stored this away mentally as yet another mystery of the Barbary Coast. "Still wish he'd been in there," he said disconsolately.


	5. Chapter 5

**WISH YOU WERE THERE!**

Jantallian

 **Holiday Snapshot 5**

"So what did you find out from your aunty?" Finally having got into some cool clothes, the older man looked a lot less hot and bothered as he smoothed his fair hair down and regarded his reflection critically in the mirror. It was fortunate that he was, by nature, modest, otherwise the stunningly handsome reflection might have caused him to commit the cardinal sin of pride. It was about the only kind of sin he was likely to commit, despite the opinion of certain ecclesiastical ladies.

"She ain't my aunt!" The other man was out on the balcony, smoking quietly and concealing his amusement at his companion's literal interpretation of the relationship. "It's a technical term."

"Oh – theatre slang?"

"Not exactly. And no, I ain't gonna explain because …" The next part was a chorus from them both: "You don't wanna know!"

"So do we know anything that we didn't know this morning?" the blonde man amended.

"You know a lot more about shoppin'," his companion teased. "But he ain't been in the theatre and Mae says no-one's talkin' about a new minister preachin' hell fire and damnation."

"Maybe he's cooled off a bit. Things might be quieter here than in Laramie."

"You reckon?" No amount of description could possibly convey the irony and scepticism in the younger man's voice. He shook his head and resigned himself to his companion's endearing innocence and totally unjustified interpretation of the surrounding environment. Instead he disclosed some more relevant information. "But she did hear of someone answerin' his description, gettin' into a parcel of fights round the place."

"Fights?"

"Yeah. Didn't you know he had a great rep as a bare-knuckle boxer in his young days?"

"That was a long time ago, before he got religion," the logical one objected.

"Maybe he's revertin'? Thinks he's young again?"

The thinker of the expedition looked doubtful, but was willing to try anything. "How do we know where the next fight is anyway?"

"It's tomorrow night, in Micky's bar," he was informed.

"So we get a night off?"

"No. Tonight we're gonna follow up Wen's lead and see if we can find him without a fight."

The venue of their next investigation was, unoriginally, down a dark alley. Another dark alley. The entrance was low and the taller man, failing entirely to follow his shorter leader's movements, gave his head a good thump as he passed through. He stumbled down the uneven steps and found himself in what looked like a version of hell without the flames. The air was thick with smoke, and dim, furtive figures moved disconcertingly in the shadows. People seemed to be lying about, looking rather like so many corpses and with the same blank, mindless expression in common. In some cases, corpse was probably not far from the truth. Feeling dizzy and slightly nauseous, the tall man looked around. His guide had completely disappeared.

A sinister looking Chinaman suddenly appeared at his side and hissed something in an undertone. It might have been in any language, but his gestures seemed to indicate that the tourist should take his hat off. Protocol thus having been satisfied, the Chinaman beckoned him to follow and led him through the cavern towards an alcove in a far corner.

"Oh, there y'are. Try an' keep up. This ain't the place to get lost in," the dark man said. "Sit down there," - he indicated a chair behind him – "an' keep y' eyes open. Let me know if y'spot him."

"And you're not watching? What are you going to do? Or don't I want know again?"

The other waved a hand at the table. "I'm playin'." He turned back to the game.

His companion watched the room, but also let his eyes scan the gaming table from time to time. The game in progress was obviously complex, although only four players played at a time. The rustle of stiff paper tiles, the rattle of dice and the click of ivory counters was almost musical in its speed and rhythm. The dark man was concentrating hard, but seemed to be holding his own, judging by the pile of little ivory sticks he was accumulating. Presently someone brought a jug of thin, yellow wine and some very small glasses. This should have warned the more innocent of the two to be cautious, but he was intrigued by all that was going on in the cavern, as well as the intense gambling. He absent-mindedly emptied his glass. It was surreptitiously refilled. In the sweet, smoky air, people moved slowly, like creatures in a dream, except when one or other of them fell over and was dragged swiftly from the scene. His glass mysteriously seemed to have filled up again. There were a lot of people smoking – perhaps that accounted for the dense atmosphere, although it didn't smell like tobacco. He didn't seem to be able to empty the glass, despite being sure he'd drunk whatever was in it. There was a strange bubbling sound in the background. All this went on for some time.

Suddenly he heard a familiar hissing and a dull thud. For a moment he couldn't place the noise, then he remembered. It was the sound of a knife being thrown. He looked down and saw a villainous rat-like man pinned to the wall next to him by his collar. Play at the table had paused.

The gambler leaned over and jerked the knife out of the wall, twisting it instead against the evil-looking man's throat. "Aunty Mae taught me good," he hissed, "an' if I ain't spitted you, it's 'cos I intended to miss. He ain't got a dime an' y' won't part me from mine. Now beat it! And tell y' friends the same!"

The rat wriggled away into the crowd and there became a definite sense of space around the gambling table. Play resumed.

The one who, unbeknownst to him, had just had a narrow escape, found that his little glass had mysteriously disappeared. This was a good thing because when he spotted their quarry and jumped to his feet, he found that his brain appeared to have no connection with them. He had intended to stroll across and shake the Reverend by the hand, but found himself staggering rapidly across the room and thumping him on the shoulder instead.

As soon as he looked into the man's face, he knew it was a mistake. The wild, white hair was there, the long snowy beard and moustache, the nose like an eagle's beak, the mountainous build – but the tiny, pig-like eyes were bleared and red-rimmed, the mouth a dental nightmare of broken teeth and the breath at close quarters would have felled an ox.

"Worrahellaydoin'!" the stranger bellowed. He picked the incautious one up by the collar and shook him violently.

This was a mistake as well. The tall man was, as has already been noted, heavily muscled and, in addition, he was not deterred by size or bad breath when it came to a fist fight. He hit his opponent a devastating haymaker that connected in no uncertain terms with his jaw. The stranger dropped him, but yelled: "Getimladseesaftaypay!"

Chaos erupted as other equally mountainous men surged from their reclining positions with every intention of joining in. At this point the gambler, who had been methodically exchanging his ivory sticks for hard cash and all the while keeping a shrewd eye on the action, decided to render his companion a little assistance. As he was considerably shorter than most of his opponents, this consisted of charging at the nearest target and head-butting them vigorously in the stomach. It was quite effective as a tactic and the pair of tourists might have done reasonably well if the owners of the cavern had not decided that all this ruckus was disrupting trade and other more important activities. The fighters suddenly found themselves surrounded by a multitude of small but determined Chinese, who, by sheer weight of numbers, were able to simply swamp and pick up the three ring-leaders. They were carried rapidly up the steps of the cavern and tossed summarily into the alley. Moments later, three hats landed on them.

The blonde man and his bull-headed companion picked themselves up and dusted each other off with their hats. This mutual piece of sprucing was interrupted by a stentorian bellow at knee level. They both looked down.

"You in control of y' feet now?" the black bull asked.

"Yeah, let me guess – leg it again?"

"Right! Run for it!"

They pelted out of the alley and into street. If they had hoped to lose themselves in the crowd, they were due for disappointment. Admittedly the road was thronged with people of both sexes, staggering, skirmishing, begging, browbeating, scrambling, stumbling, dancing, nose-diving, reeling, wrestling, pleading, picking pockets, ambushing and undertaking a good many other deeds that did not bear too close inspection. This, however, made progress problematical if they were not to become entangled in activities they had no wish to indulge in. It also did not make for speed. Behind them, they heard the rallying cry of the one they were trying to evade.

"Getimladseesaftaypay!"

It was extremely effective. The doors of every bar, brothel, dance-hall and gambling den on the block burst open and a motley assortment of rogues, villains, miners, speculators, cowboys, land-grabbers, petty thieves, house burglars, tramps, whoremongers, lewd women, cutthroats, discharged soldiers, murderers, gamblers, drunken sailors *4 and anyone else spoiling for a free-for-all, tumbled out into the street. The odds did not look good.

"Take y' hat off!" the dark man yelled, grabbing an opponent by the arm and heaving him back into the crowd.

The fair-haired man laid out three attackers in row with his straight left and enquired: "My hat?"

"Take!" - Right jab - "it!" - Left upper cut – "off!" A head-butt followed a kick to the knees for the man in front and an elbow stove in the stomach of the second attacker creeping up behind.

They took their hats off. "Now duck!" They did. "And crawl!"

The street was one vicious, mindless, drunken riot. The two tourists emerged relatively unscathed but rather more grubby and sought shelter in the nearest alley. When they had got their breath back, they strolled nonchalantly on to the end, took a right and a left, crossed another street, took a further alley and emerged into a familiar road. The sounds of fighting were fading behind them. They sauntered into their own hotel. They had not put on their hats.

 **#**

 **SS - JH**

 **#**

"I thought you said we'd find him without fighting this evening?" Slim complained as he tried vainly to brush the mud, dust and traces of blood off his pants and jacket. "That's the last time I take any of your friends' advice."

"That miner was like enough to be his twin," Jess pointed out more reasonably than he felt. He was sprawled across the gigantic bed, trying to count his winnings, and this was the third time Slim had interrupted him. Mathematics was not Jess's forte. "An' it looks as if you're gonna need washing doin' again, so don't be too quick to unhitch from my friends. _And_ your wallet would have gone straight to the light-fingered laundry if it hadn't been for them tippin' me off!"

Slim regarded him balefully. _How was it Jess had managed to come through that smelly cavern, a dust-up with gigantic miners, ejection by a bunch of Chinese, a street fight and crawling down an alley, without so much as a crease in his pants (apart from the ones that were meant to be there) or a tear in his shirt (always a feature of Harper rig) and not half as much dust as usual on him either? And with a wallet-full of winning?_ Aloud he said: "I hope the laundry bills can go on expenses too."

"Y' getting' that free," Jess told him curtly. "Friends, remember?" He rolled off the bed and took his wallet from his jacket, which was, against all habit, hanging neatly on a hanger. He had decided that he had won enough for a night on the town, even if he didn't know exactly how much it was. Fishing out his watch, he saw that the vaudeville show would be ending soon.

"Yeah, thanks," Slim said apologetically. "I guess I was out of order there." And because he was inherently honest, he added, "And out of my depth too."

Jess looked him over with affectionate concern mingled with a certain wry exasperation. Slim certainly did look the worse for wear and quite unlike his normal neat, self-controlled and confident self. "I'd do no better if I didn't know the people or the town," he said gently. "Get some sleep. Y' lookin' done in."

Slim peered in the mirror and had to agree. Quite apart from the state of his clothing, his head was still throbbing from the combined effects of a thump from the door-lintel, the thin yellow wine, two fights and some energetic crawling. He lowered himself carefully on to the bed and closed his eyes. "Just don't make any loud noises," he pleaded.

"Silent as a snake," Jess assured him, as he bent and tenderly removed the other's boots. When he had locked these safely in the wardrobe, he added: " 'cos I ain't gonna be here."

"What? Where are you going now?" Slim sat up abruptly, clutching his aching temples and glaring at Jess.

"You don't wanna know," Jess told him with utter predictability, "but, just so's y' won't lie there worryin', for a start I'm gonna buy a lady a hat!"

Slim groaned in frustration and anguish, then lay back, thwarted once more. "You won't find the Reverend in a hat shop!"

"It ain't him I'm gonna be lookin' for," he was assured with a grin – or maybe it was more of a smirk. Jess slid into his jacket, picked up his still remarkably clean hat and headed for the door. As it closed ponderously behind him, Slim moaned in faint tones, "Wish he'd been there in that cavern!" Then it might all have been worth it.


	6. Chapter 6

**WISH YOU WERE THERE!**

Jantallian

 **Holiday Snapshot 6**

"Nice hat." The hung-over one had to admit that, despite a fervent wish to spend the rest of the day somewhere cool and quiet and free from the crazy modes of behaviour that seemed to characterise life on the Barbary Coast, Anna-Maria looked charming enough to make any man want to show a little more spirit than he felt capable of at that moment. "Where's Jess?" he asked, realising that the purchaser of the millinery was nowhere to be seen.

"He said to take you to breakfast." She linked her arm enthusiastically through that of the handsome blonde and smiled exactly as if she had not spent the preceding hours in the company of his best friend.

"Doesn't he feel like eating?" _Impossible! Nothing short of incapacitating illness or injury ever stopped Jess getting on the outside of a square meal._

Anna-Maria obviously divined his thoughts or, more likely, was just very well versed in Harper behaviour. "He'll find us. And I expect," she smiled with charming dimples, "he'll manage to eat another whole breakfast while we're finishing ours."

"Another?" The thought of one breakfast was causing his hangover some trouble. _And where – and with whom! – had Jess already had breakfast once anyway?_

"Come along!" Anna-Maria patted his arm and gently steered him towards one of the less disreputable eating houses. It was all very soothing and by the time he had managed a couple of black coffees – _good heavens, he was catching Jess's habits_ – he was beginning to feel like a human being again. And to respond much more enthusiastically to the delightful company he found himself in.

They had eaten quietly and slowly. There was no sign of Jess. Now, stretching out in the chair and enjoying more coffee, he didn't care if his unpredictable companion never turned up. _Well, not for a while anyway. At least until this new acquaintance had ripened into something more definite. But what was keeping him? Never mind – we can do without his appetite. Just a minute, Jess never misses a free meal! Not unless someone's hog-tied him or knocked him out. Something's happened!_ The conscientious one suddenly sat bolt upright, a look of anxiety and responsibility clouding his face.

His fellow diner was obviously good at reading minds. "He's fine," Anna-Maria assured him, reaching over to pat his arm once again.

"That's what I'm worried about. Jess is never fine except when he's in deep trouble!"

"He certainly likes a fight," she agreed, "but you really needn't worry. Aunty Mae is introducing him to a couple of people."

"And that's good news?"

"Yeah – she knows everyone there is to know in San Francisco," asserted a familiar gravelly drawl behind them. "I got us ring-side seats for the fight tonight." With that, the truant sat down and proceeded to demolish a full breakfast at a speed that left the other two with mild indigestion just from watching him.

Ring-side seats on the Barbary Coast did not mean exactly what they had expected. To start with, there was no ring and although there were sides, these were mainly composed of warring factions of people who had bet heavily on one fighter or another. Nonetheless, they were seized upon on their arrival by a couple of extremely tough-looking men whose demeanour said "soldier" in every move. Thus escorted, they were pushed and shoved – and on their own part, did some jostling and hacking – to reach what was, more or less, the front row. It was, unfortunately, quite a way from the bar and the duty of their escorts obviously did not include fetching drinks for tourists.

"Sit there!" Once again the tall man found himself pushed into a chair. "An' don't let anyone sit next t' y'." His companion shot a quick glance round the massive room and, having assured himself that the next fight was not immanent and that the Reverend was nowhere to be seen, proceeded to insinuate himself into the crowd once more, wriggling, sliding, jinxing and eliding his way to the bar. This was not difficult, given his slender frame and the fact that his stature meant he could simply use the space below most other men's elbows – at any rate in this crowd.

Miraculously, he returned with almost all of the two pints of beer he was carrying. Trouble only started when, after several fights had taken place, he went back for, as it were, a second round. This involved squeezing past the contestants waiting for their turn in the ring. The Reverend was not one of them and their behaviour was, in any case, hardly suitable for one with clerical qualifications, however good a boxer he might be.

The dark man's ducking and weaving tactics did not pay off this time. Almost as soon as he had set out he ran into trouble. Big trouble, in the shape of a waiting contestant. A man of considerable muscle, weight and height, but relatively tiny brain. Feeling someone brush against the arm that was holding his tankard, this man reached out with his other and grabbed the offender by the collar.

This seemed to be a favoured part of the clothing during attacks on the Barbary Coast, the blonde man noted in passing. Concern for his friend was, however, uppermost in his mind and he was watching the confrontation with the alarm of a mother hen who has discovered one of her chicks playing tag with a fox cub. After all, he had promised Jess's sister, Francie, when they stayed overnight with the family on their way down, that he would look after her little brother. Mind you, when Francie said this, she probably meant Harper style, which involved leaping loyally into trouble, fists flying and gun at the ready, at the drop of a hat – or sometimes even without the drop of one – and with complete disregard for the odds, the outcome or any consideration that could be labelled 'common sense'. This was not his own method of proceeding, as he usually tried to steer his friend away from trouble, rather than having to fish him out of it.

Now, to his horror, the worried watcher heard the boxer say: "Yer pushin' me, y' little bastard!" *5 That was not a good idea. If anything was guaranteed to act as a red rag to Harper bullishness, it was being called 'little'. Even as the would-be protector caught his breath, the one so addressed escaped from the boxer's grip by the simple expedient of ripping his coat apart, shedding buttons in every direction, and dropping out of its confines onto the floor. He landed on his toes, poised to start flinging punches and instantly launched himself into a furious attack of whirlwind blows. The boxer rocked momentarily on his heels, then, rather like a steer pestered by a particularly persistent hornet, dropped the torn coat, picked the irate one up again by his shirt instead and held him at arm's length. This immediately rendered the attack completely useless, as the boxer's reach was far longer than that of his smaller, or perhaps that should be 'shorter', opponent. The black bull was hung out to dry and harmless and now in a position of considerable disadvantage. The boxer pondered for a moment and then began, methodically, to hit the dangling body with a series of well-aimed blows, working from the top downwards, encouraged by enthusiastic cheers from the crowd.

He was interrupted in this enjoyable activity by a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he found himself facing much taller man with a determined but polite expression. "Excuse me," this apparition said firmly, "would you mind putting my friend down. I think he's a little under your weight. Try me instead."

This was a novel approach and brought loud laughs from the crowd. The boxer scratched his head with the fingers of the hand that had been doing the punching. He didn't like being laughed at. He was getting bored with just hitting. He didn't mind a proper fight. "Get y' gear off!" he grunted, as he dropped his punch-bag into a vacant chair. The tall man tried not to look. It wouldn't do his companion any favours to fuss over him in front of this crowd and he certainly wouldn't get any thanks for it from the recipient. Besides, he now had troubles of his own.

Shedding his coat and shirt, he folded them neatly and placed them on the chair next to the battered looking tourist. "Sit there and stay put! You can look after my clothes for a bit," he informed his friend. After a moment's thought, he took off his boots too: "And don't forget my boots!" This lost him some height, but would give him much better footing, and that might be essential if his plan was to work. He stripped off well and, in contrast to the boxer, looked muscular, healthy, powerful and bore more than a little resemblance to one of the better sculptures of the Greek gods. His physique caused considerable consternation amongst the female members of the audience. Added to this, he was in his prime. The boxer, on the other hand, although he had the advantage of experience, was not in the first flush of his youth and had not bothered to keep fit. He relied solely on his reach and the weight of his punch to win.

The blonde man squared up to him, shifting nimbly from foot to foot as he dodged the punches that immediately rained on him, moving just out of reach each time. This infuriated and exhausted the boxer very quickly. His rage was further fuelled by the deft and hefty blows that the tall man managed to land whenever he could get inside his opponent's reach. He was careful, however, not to allow himself to be caught in a grapple – there were no rules in this ring and the boxer, at close quarters, would be quite capable of crushing or pounding the life out of him. Despite the punishing punches that did make contact with his body, the blonde fighter kept moving, dodging, circling, like a wolf wearing down a moose. The crowd were vastly entertained as this was very different from the usual slugging matches that took place. Soon they were betting heavily on who could last out the longest.

It seemed the longest ten minutes of his life to the fair-haired pugilist. Every moment was one of pure concentration and control, using his brain and the sharp reflexes of his body to outwit and ultimately defeat the hulk who was attempting to bludgeon him into the floor. He just needed one good blow to the solar plexus and a hard upper cut to meet the descending chin – that should finish it. Meanwhile he kept moving, dancing, feinting and generally maddening his opponent, who was wasting what little breath he had left in roars of wrath. The boxer in a furious frenzy was a terrifying sight. The tall man just kept cool. Waiting. Manoeuvring. Seeing the other man's guard drop, he made good his two planned blows. The boxer's feet left the floor as he toppled backwards with a crash to bounce on the floor like a felled oak.

The crowd erupted into ecstasy – especially those who had bet on the blonde. The winner was fêted and fawned on, numerous incompatible drinks were thrust into his hand, offers of a professional career (albeit short-lived) were pressed upon him and so were a number of other offers, some of which baffled him completely – which was probably just as well. As his friend was fond of saying, there were some things that he just didn't need to know about the Barbary Coast.

Glory is short-lived and crowds are fickle. The next moment he was abandoned as another, more orthodox fight started. He pushed his way back to the chairs they had occupied as tourist spectators, feeling rather more part of the place than he actually wished to. His comrade in arms was still slumped in the chair, looking distinctly the worse for wear. One eye was closing rapidly, blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and a dark shadow of bruising lined his jaw. His shirt had parted company from its collar and his rent coat was minus the buttons that had been quickly snatched up by the local urchins. The blonde man approached him cautiously. There was no telling if unspent anger and residual inclination to fight would be vented on the nearest target.

To his surprise, the younger man simply got to his feet and picked up his ripped coat. There was no sign that he felt anything other than philosophical about a public and humiliating beating. He looked the winner up and down and said: "Y' whipped him. Good!" Then he turned and began to push his way towards the door, leaving the victor to pick up his clothes and follow in his wake.

Once outside, they paused on the board-walk so that the fighter could dress again, an activity, unusually, which drew not the slightest attention from anyone. While this happened, the other leant against an upright, much as he did at home except that he was not smoking. When the victor was ready, he took another, closer look at his friend and asked anxiously, "You ok?"

"I'm fine!" the other grated. He managed about a hundred yards down the nearest alley before he was out on his feet. The blonde man picked him up and carried him back to the hotel.

 **#**

 **SS – JH**

 **#**

Slim deposited the limp body of his friend on the bed and stood looking down thoughtfully for a moment. Then he leaned forward and brushed back the dark forelock lying across the bruised temples. "You really are a reckless idiot!" he said softly. "You just don't know when to back down, do you?"

Jess stirred under his fingers and mumbled, "Ain't gonna …"

"Yeah? What aren't you going to do?" Slim asked, with a wry smile. "Nothing right now!" he told his patient forcefully. Turning away, he went and found a towel which he soaked with cold water. He proceeded to sponge down the cuts and bruises, then slid off the ripped shirt and gently treated the battered rib-cage on which dark bruises were already evident. Feeling carefully, he decided that Jess had been lucky this time - nothing was broken, although he knew how often those ribs had borne the brunt of their owner's wilder confrontations. It was obvious that he was in no condition to put himself to bed, so Slim stripped off his boots and pants and pulled the covers over him.

He had barely completed his ministrations when there was a tap at the door and Anna-Maria came quietly in. She stood for a moment looking down at the comatose figure in the bed. "So it's true. He's never been any good at knowing the dividing line between brave and suicidally stupid!" Slim was both touched by and jealous of her understanding and concern.

She put down the basket she had been carrying and produced some salve with which they could treat the injuries. There was also a bottle of brandy. Anna-Maria looked apologetically at Slim and said softly, "He's going to need something to get him to sleep tonight."

"Unlike previous nights," Slim couldn't help observing. "He seems perfectly able to do without sleep if he chooses. I suppose that's what he did last night?"

Anna-Maria's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I wouldn't know."

"But I thought –" Slim blurted out.

Her swift response stopped him in his tracks. "Jess bought me a hat as a thank-you for looking after you!" She paused and smiled at him, those dimples appearing attractively again. "I'd have done it for nothing, but he insisted. Then he was going to meet an old friend, someone called Julie, I think – but what happened after that, I don't know. I went home and got an early night."

"You don't … you did …" Slim stuttered.

Anna-Maria once more put a reassuring hand on his arm, but they were interrupted as their patient began to struggle back to consciousness. The first thing he did was to repeat his previous comment: "Y' whipped him! Good!"

"I didn't stop him working you over!" Slim, conscientious as ever, was prepared to take the blame for Jess's irrepressible fighting instinct.

"It's nothing," he was assured in rather groggy tones. "It was worth it. Now - pass me my pants." When these were duly handed over, Jess fished in a pocket and produced a fat roll of money. "$500!"

"What?" Slim stared at him in amazement. "Did you rob a bank or something?"

"Nope," Jess grinned cheerfully, though a trifle lopsidedly, at him. "I bet on you when the odds were long. Always knew y'd win, if y' could just be provoked into fightin' in the first place!"

Slim glared at him "You mean the whole thing was a set-up?"

"Kind of –" Jess massaged his aching ribs and added with a grimace, "and then again, kind of – not!"

"You wanted me to fight?"

"One sure-fire way of gettin' the Reverend to notice y', supposin' he was there," Jess pointed out with irritating reasonableness. "Just didn't figure on bein' caught in the cross-fire!"

"Serves you right!" Anna told him severely. "Especially if you got Slim into it too!" She turned to Slim: "Next time, just let him get the … tar … beaten out of him. It might make room for some sense!" All the same, she poured out a generous glass of brandy and put her arm round Jess to support him while he drank it. "At least I don't need my sewing skills to put you back together again this time."

"Yeah. I think this is yours?" Jess ran a finger over one of the scars on his left arm.

"I prefer costumes," Anna retorted. "They stay still while you work on them and they don't argue!"

Jess didn't look in the least chastised by all this, but he did lean his head back wearily into the pillows and hold out the glass for a refill.

"One more is all you're getting," he was told roundly. "I had to pinch this from Aunty Mae and there'll be hell to pay when she finds out."

"Tell her Slim took it," Jess said with a sleeping chuckle. "He ought to be able to deal with anythin' after that boxer." He rolled over, buried his face in the pillow and appeared to be sound asleep without further ado.

Slim and Anna-Maria stood looking down at him, their expressions of exasperation and affection matching each other exactly. Slim sighed: "I wish we'd found the Reverend right there in the boxing ring!" All the pair of them had got was a lot of bruises – and of course $500.

#

#

* * *

*5 Apologies for the language, but this is the Barbary Coast!


	7. Chapter 7

**WISH YOU WERE THERE!**

Jantallian

 **A Letter Home**

 **SS - JH**

The next day, Jess utterly refused to get up. Considering that he had snored blissfully through the night with complete disregard for Slim's slumbers, there did not seem to be any reason for this other than a prolongation of his usual refusal to face the morning. Unless, of course, it was vanity – despite the effectiveness of the salve, the cuts and bruises on his face did nothing to improve it.

Slim once more gave up on this intransigence and intercepted Anna-Maria on his way to breakfast. Assuring her that their patient was sleeping peacefully, Slim was able to persuade her to eat with him and after that, to show him the parts of San Francisco that the Barbary Coast did not encompass. Their perambulations led naturally to having lunch together and then the afternoon was pleasantly spent viewing the boats in the harbour.

It was, therefore, early evening, before they returned to the hotel. Anna-Maria had, out of the kindness of her heart, refrained from enlightening Slim any further about its true nature. She had never before met anyone who was so kind and friendly and honest and entirely without an insight into the seamier side of life. It would have been a pity to spoil it. They were met by a harassed receptionist, who immediately demanded to know why the stair-carpet was being worn out with visitors going to and from Slim's room.

"Mostly wimmin!" the clerk added morosely, regarding Slim with a jaundiced eye as if he were personally responsible for what went on in his absence. Slim would probably have accepted this responsibility, had not Anna-Maria pointed out that Jess had a lot of friends in the theatrical line.

"I just hope they're not all still there," Slim said as they ascended the staircase. The carpet seemed to have born up remarkably well.

Contrary to his forebodings, they found no-one in the room and Jess peacefully sleeping exactly as if he was still in the early hours of the morning. This appearance was belied by the presence of a great many flowers, the remains of a substantial meal and several assorted bottles which had contained alcohol at some time in the not so distant past.

"Wake up!" Slim poked him unkindly in the ribs and was rewarded with a yelp of pain and a snarl. "It's nearly sundown. Get up!"

Jess attempted to pull the bedclothes over his head but Slim foiled this in the same way he had on a previous morning, with the threat of the water ewer. Jess sat up reluctantly, rubbing his eyes and scowling. "Coffee!" he demanded belligerently.

"Only if you get up first!"

"There's a lady in the room. I ain't getting out of bed and dressin' –"

"You said she'd seen everything. And if she can buy you silk underpants, I don't see that you've got anything to be so modest about!"

Anna-Maria solved this neatly by giving Slim a chaste kiss on the cheek, thanking him for a lovely day and departing to her duties at the theatre. Slim folded his arms and waited in what he hoped was a sufficiently threatening manner. Jess found some clean clothes and got into them reluctantly. Then he looked at himself in the mirror and groaned. "I sure hope the Reverend is worth all this trouble!"

"You've only yourself to blame," Slim told him firmly. "Your ideas about finding him haven't exactly worked out so far, have they?"

"Neither have yours!" Jess retorted. "An' it was your job to find him, not mine. I'm just the shotgun guard, remember?"

"Yeah, I'll remember next time someone picks one of us up by the collar!" Slim agreed. Then he added in weary and puzzled tones: "I can't see why we can't find him."

"Are you sure you got the directions right?" Jess was moodily poking about the room, looking for something to drink, since coffee did not seem to be forthcoming.

"Miss Rachel gave me the letter. See for yourself. Mind you," Slim added, "his handwriting is nearly as bad as yours."

Jess took the piece of paper and moved out onto the balcony, where the light was better. He stared at it. Slim was used to the fact that Jess was not a fast reader and did not register this for some moments. Jess went on staring at the letter. Slim strolled across and looked over his shoulder. Jess silently pointed to a particular sentence.

"Oh no!"

"Oh yeah! You know what this means?"

"I'm guessing. And I think it's something else that I don't want to know!"

"Well, it would've helped some if you'd known this from the start. We're in the wrong place."

"We are?"

"Yeah. This don't say 'Barbary Coast', it says 'Santa Barbara on the coast'!"

"And that is …?"

"Three hundred miles south of here!"

Ten days and two hundred and something miles later, they came to a secluded bay below the coastal road. It was possible to get down to the beach and the temptation was too much. The stunning beauty of the coastline had been with them all the way. The sight of the ocean was something completely new to Slim and entirely enchanting, despite Jess's cryptic moans about ships and sea-sickness. Both of them were hot, tired and saddle-weary. The lure of the cool blue water was irresistible.

Tethering the horses they had hired, they scrambled down the cliff and onto the sand. Moments later, there were two piles of clothes on the rocks – one tidily folded and the other dropped in a heap. Jess added the towel he had fished out from his bag to his piled clothing and looked at his disconcerted companion in surprise: "You ain't brought a towel? I don't believe it! You even carry a clean handkerchief."

"Yeah, but I can't dry on that!"

"Guess you'll have to let the sun do it for you then!" Jess sprinted down the beach and took a header into the waves, once again ignoring his companion's packing dilemma. Slim shrugged and followed him rather more cautiously. And immediately after that, there was a great deal of splashing and horsing about in the surging surf.

"It's salty!" Slim sounded astounded. "I mean, I've read about it, but it really is salty!" The wonder in his voice was, as always, totally endearing, but that did not stop Jess from splashing a great sweep of the stuff into his face and then letting the surge of a wave carry him racing back towards the beach. If he had hoped to escape a ducking for this, he was out of luck and shortly afterwards came up spitting salt water and sand.

When playing in the waves had been explored enough, they both swam out into calmer water and floated, admiring the view of the magnificent cliffs towering above them. A flight of pelicans skimmed low over the shallows and then lifted gracefully towards the headland.

"What's that?" Jess pointed towards a shelf of rock, on which there appeared to be a number of moving boulders. Slim squinted against the sun and then said: "I think they're sea-lions." *6

"They look on the large side. I just hope they're aimin' to stay where they are!"

"Don't worry – you're too big for them to try to eat."

Thus reassured by Slim's apparent knowledge of coastal ambience, they found the rocking of the waves and the relaxation of their bodies extremely peaceful after the hazards of the drier Barbary Coast. There were still things puzzling Slim's logical mind, though, and after a while he asked: "Why is she Aunty Mae?"

"It's a universal term."

"And you really aren't related?"

"Are you crazy?" Jess gave a sigh and decided, for the sake of a quiet life, to give in to Slim's curiosity. "I worked for her once."

"You did?"

"Yeah, I was part of the knife-throwing act."

"I see. Well, you do throw accurately enough to be an asset."

"I was the target!" Jess looked as though he would like to sink, but not if it meant drowning.

" _She_ threw knives at _you_?"

"Yeah." After a bit, the ex-assistant added, "It wasn't bad money and easy work, just standin' around. You were safe enough if she was drunk."

"You mean if she wasn't drunk?"

"No. She's deadly accurate when she's drunk, 'cos she knows she needs to concentrate. But rehearsals were hell! I've still got the scars!"

They were silent for a while, then Slim enquired: "How's Julie?"

A look of chagrin clouded Jess's face. "She's gettin' married!"

There was another pause. "You could look on it as a lucky escape," Slim suggested.

Jess thought about this a little, after which he said in tones of resignation: "Maybe. But I never did figure that woman out!" Then he decided that Slim had asked quite enough personal questions for one day and rolled over, intending to swim back to the shore. Slim followed suit.

It was several minutes before Slim ventured: "Jess, do you think we're getting anywhere?"

"No!" Jess said shortly. They were both strong swimmers but no matter how much effort they put into it, the shore got no nearer. In fact they were moving southwards, along the coast, much faster than they were going inshore.

"I think we must be caught in a sea current," analysed Slim the knowledgeable.

"No kiddin'? An' y' wait till now t' tell me!"

"There's no point in fighting it. We'll just have to hope it will bring us back to land eventually."


	8. Chapter 8

**WISH YOU WERE THERE!**

Jantallian

 **POST SCRIPT**

 **SS - JH**

When 'eventually' arrived they were both cold and exhausted. Neither of them would have admitted to being frightened at the time, but, when they discussed it afterwards, they were in agreement that it was one of the most terrifying experiences of their lives. As Jess put it, " 'Cos y' know y' ain't gonna be able to do anythin' that'll make any difference!"

At long last, however, the current swept them back towards a broad, sandy beach. It was almost deserted, except for a small group of people. They appeared to floating directly towards this group. In fact, they were going to be washed up immediately opposite them. As they drew inexorably closer and closer, it became apparent that the group was a family picnic of the most decorous kind – ladies sitting shaded by parasols, young men reclining modestly at their feet on rugs, children playing sedately and a venerable elder enthroned in a big rush chair.

A majestic and tall venerable elder, with wild, white hair, a long snowy beard and moustache, a nose like an eagle's beak, a mountainous build and the look of an Old Testament prophet. "I do not believe this!" Slim breathed hoarsely as he found his feet in the surf at last.

"Y' don't? Well, you're the one lookin' for him." Jess had stopped further out, up to his shoulders in the breaking waves. He was keeping his footing with difficulty, but showed no inclination to come any further ashore.

"Come on!" Slim started to wade towards the beach and then stopped. He was suddenly aware that silk drawers did not conform to the dress required by polite society, especially when thoroughly soaked with seawater. He looked back. Jess raised an eyebrow and shrugged at the same time, but made no move to join him.

"I say! Are you chaps all right?" A voice hailed them from the beach. A young man was standing in the shallows, the trousers of his suit rolled up in order to facilitate the need to paddle.

"Good afternoon!" Slim was nothing if not polite. "We have a bit of a problem," he began, hearing in his memory Jess's judgement that he _was_ a problem.

"I say! Bad luck!" the young man sympathised. "Anything we can do to help?"

"Only if you're thinkin' of miraculously transportin' us miles back up the coast!" Slim heard Jess growl. He hastily qualified this. "We were swimming –"

"Yes, I can see that!" By this time the young man had been joined by a crowd of small children. Behind them, the women were beginning to stir, curious about the sudden appearance of these two mermen from the ocean.

"We got swept away from where we left our clothes," Slim explained. The young man continued to smile cheerfully at him with complete lack of comprehension. "We'd be grateful for the loan of a towel," Slim begged desperately.

"Two towels!" Jess growled behind him. Slim glanced over his shoulder. Jess was beginning to go an interesting shade of mauve under his tan. He never did handle the cold very well.

"Oh, I say – how inconsiderate of me!" The young man turned to a couple of the elder boys and said, "Cut along back to the house and bring some towels and a couple of bath robes. And be quick about it!"

Some ten minutes later they were decently, if somewhat unconventionally, dressed and rather more ready to face the company than they had been. The young man, who introduced himself as Algernon Fitzwilliam, chattered on cheerfully, explaining that the picnic was to celebrate his aunt's birthday and the visit of members of the English branch of the family, of whom he himself was one, to California. They had apparently come by sea from India.

"Come and meet my uncle," Algie invited, waving a hand at the venerable figure in the rush chair.

"Yeah!" said two voices as one. Still neither of them could believe their eyes.

As they approached, the old man stood up and shaded his own eyes against the bright sun glinting off the water. He too seemed very much taken aback by what he saw. He folded his arms and said grimly, "Slim. Jess. I always took you for respectable young men. What in the world are you doing?"

Since 'looking for you' was going to sound a flippant and unlikely answer, Slim surreptitiously hacked Jess's ankle and smiled at the old man. "Visiting relatives, sir. Jess's sister lives in California." The fact that she lived over four hundred miles away tweaked his conscience, but at least it was the truth. They had visited her. Slim had an uneasy feeling that he had failed in his duty of care for the little brother by nearly getting him drowned, but shoved this temporarily to the back of his mind as he thought how to deal with what he now remembered was a most irascible old gentleman. How on earth had he thought they could just persuade him to come back to Laramie with them?

"Oh, my goodness, are you acquainted with each other already?" enquired the polite voice of Algernon in its impeccable English.

"Two of my parishioners," the Reverend William Fitzwilliam explained grimly. "Or perhaps I should say, ex- parishioners."

"What a co-incidence!" Algie remarked blithely. Slim hoped fervently that Jess, whom he could feel getting tenser by the moment, was not going to throttle the young man out of sheer aggravation.

"Yes!" The Reverend did not sound in the least as if he thought it was a co-incidence. Slim exchanged a harassed glance with Jess. The old man turned to his nephew and ordered: "Take them up to the house, Algernon, and find them something suitable to wear." He had become increasingly aware of the discreet interest of the female members of his household in these two good-looking and barely clad young castaways. "You will, of course, stay to dinner, gentlemen."

Dinner was substantial, decorous and almost entirely boring. The only bright spot was the presence of the lady hosting it, who did not seem to be part of the Fitzwilliam clan, but who nonetheless sat at the foot of the table, paying charming attention to her two unexpected guests. She was rather older than either of them, but age has a lot to recommend it when it comes harnessed to sophistication and experience. Among other things, it was she who arranged for their horses and belongings to be retrieved. It was not until after dinner that the Reverend Fitzwilliam chose to interrogate his visitors. He said he wanted to catch up on news of his previous parish, but it was an interrogation.

"And what," he demanded, "are you two young men really doing here?"

"Apart from nearly gettin' drowned?" Jess countered before Slim could stop him. "Well, we've been runnin' all round town." He paused and gave Slim a conspiratorial wink. "We've been cursed, soaked, boiled, suffocated, targeted, manhandled, thrown out, propositioned, beaten up – oh, and Slim won a boxing match."

"You did?" A fanatical gleam had come momentarily into the Reverend Fitzwilliam's eye. Then he recovered his sense of parsonical dignity with an effort. "I cannot see how you can have become involved with such activities in the civilised environs of Santa Barbara?" *7

"We were on the Barbary Coast," Slim admitted. He glared at Jess and added: "You forgot the shopping!"

"An' the sightseein'!" Jess retorted slyly.

The Reverend, however, was ruminating on that other location. "An ungodly place, from all I hear tell!" He frowned formidably and went on, "I trust that you withstood the temptations of the flesh?"

"Are you kiddin'?" Jess laughed, "Slim wouldn't recognise a temptation of the flesh if it was tryin to' –"

"Shut up!" Slim hissed. He drew a breath and decided to make a clean breast of it. He was, in any case, inherently truthful. "We were trying to find you, sir. You see -"

He got no further before the Reverend erupted in righteous indignation: "Me? On the Barbary Coast? What impudence!"

"But they do have the best boxin' matches there," Jess countered. "And we figured, that, bein' retired, you might be takin' an interest in your old hobby."

Things hung in the balance for a moment, but the lure of fighting glory was too much for the Reverend. "Tell me about it!"

It was much later in the night and after numerous whiskies that he was fully satisfied with their account of the fights they had witnessed and heard about. Finally he sat back in his deep armchair, his eyes glittering with enthusiasm and his lips curled in what might have been a smile, but rather resembled the feral grin of a major predator. He regarded the two young men in front of him more benignly than he had at their first appearance, but nonetheless, something was troubling him. Eventually he seemed to come to a decision. He sighed deeply and the smile, if it was a smile, disappeared entirely. "You'd better tell me why Rachel sent you, Slim!"

"Us," Jess put in firmly.

"The only reason Rachel would have sent you," he was told coldly, "is because you can be relied upon to hit pretty much anything with that gun of yours!" The Reverend looked at the marks still showing faintly on that young man's face and added: "I suppose you can hit things with your fists too – if you can reach?"

"Jess!" Slim was half out of his chair in preventative mode, but Jess just laughed: "Your reach is a lot longer'n mine, Reverend, an' I ain't gonna try dodgin' it – not tonight, at any rate!"

Slim fell back with a sigh of relief. He didn't really think Jess would hit an old gentleman, still less a gentleman of the cloth, but he was not at all sure that the opposite would apply! The old gentleman, however, just repeated his question: "Why did she send you?"

"She was worried, sir. She thought you were in trouble and she sent me – us – to help you make it back to Laramie."

"Back to Laramie?" The old man surprised them with a roar of laughter. "My dear young man, I have not the least intention of ever going back to that miserable excuse for civilisation in the middle of nowhere!" He regarded their stunned expressions with considerable amusement and explained: "This is where life is. Everyone who is anyone is coming to California!"

Slim and Jess regarded each other thoughtfully. It certainly did seem to be a place for which many of their acquaintances were heading, not least those who had something they wanted to leave behind.

"But you can't want to leave your daughters?" Slim objected.

"Why not?" was all the answer he got. "They'll get married off soon enough and an elderly father is nothing but an encumbrance to marital harmony. As a matter of fact," – a gleam came into the Reverend's eye that had nothing to do with boxing – "getting married is exactly what I'm intending to do myself."

"You do? You are!" Slim was utterly dumbfounded and Jess was nearly splitting his sides in an attempt not to laugh.

"Miss Susannah Gregory, whom you met at dinner tonight, has done me the honour of accepting my hand." This stopped the laughter and explained the stunning news. Slim and Jess regarded each other thoughtfully again. Miss Gregory was certainly woman enough to warrant any man's interest, even though she was not quite in the first flush of youth. The Reverend, meanwhile, was continuing, "And if either of you would like to oblige by taking Rachel off my hands –"

"She's just trustin' Slim to find you, Reverend," Jess said quickly. "An' I'm only along to keep you both safe!"

Slim and Jess stared at each other in mutually shared apprehension, holding their breath as The Reverend William Fitzwilliam nodded slowly and observed: "Well, now you've succeeded in that –"

Instant communication flashed between the hapless pair. Time for a well-timed exit! "We'll be heading right on home!" Slim said firmly.

It was not until a number of days and many miles later that they came round to reflecting on their trip to the Barbary Coast and other sunny climes of California.

"Can't see Miss Rachel paying our expenses if we're coming back empty-handed," Slim pointed out gloomily.

"She should be glad we ain't bringin' back a new step-ma too!" Jess pointed out cheerfully.

"We're going to be seriously out of pocket," Slim the book-keeper was worried as usual.

"Nope! We've got $500 in my back pocket!" Jess the gambler was sanguine as usual.

"That's your winnings."

"Nope. You won the fight, so it's our profit. What d'y' wanna spend it on?"

"Not on a hat!" was the firm reply.

They rode on in silence for a while.

Then Slim remarked: "Who'd have thought he'd remarry, at his age?"

"No wonder he didn't want Miss Rachel sortin' him out!" Jess grinned.

There was another silence. Then Jess continued, still sounding highly amused: "At least playin' guard paid off, 'cos it ain't either of us gettin' married! I knew I'd come in useful for somethin' on this crazy expedition."

Slim brooded for a moment on the charms of Miss Rachel Fitzwilliam and his own resentment that Jess had got himself included riding shot-gun to the expedition. And he made a fleeting comparison with a certain theatrical costumier. Then he considered the accidents, attacks and anxieties he had suffered in his encounter with the Barbary Coast. Finally he also remembered the amazing environment, extraordinary experiences and entrancing sightseeing he had enjoyed.

"Yeah, it was a pretty wild trip," he summed up, "but all things considered –"

"What?"

"I'm glad you were there!"

 **SS – JH – SS – JH – SS – JH**

#

#

* * *

NOTES:

6\. A small homage to a sighting on my own marvellous trip up the Pacific Coast highway. I admit to having compacted the geography somewhat.

7\. Although it appears that Santa Barbara did have its own period of lawlessness, Wiki informs us that "During the 1870s, writer Charles Nordhoff promoted the town as a health resort and destination for well-to-do travellers from other parts of the U.S.; many of them came, and many stayed."


End file.
